


Happy Birthday

by AFarFetchedPlot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mourning, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4784297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFarFetchedPlot/pseuds/AFarFetchedPlot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Everyone said that things got easier in time, but Greg knew now that was a load of bollocks. Mycroft had been gone for months, and it wasn’t easier. It just got harder. Waking up each morning, without Myc was just… Hard.'</p><p>It'd been months since he lost his partner, and Greg wasn't finding things any easier to deal with...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday

Waking up was always the hardest part. 

For a brief moment, he could pretend that everything was as it should be, that at any moment the alarm would go off and strong arms would wrap around him as a murmured ‘Good morning’ whispered across the pillow. If he concentrated really hard, he could almost feel the warmth at his side, could almost smell the comforting, heart-achingly familiar scent of his lover as he leant in for an early morning kiss… 

But every day, he was forced to open his eyes and accept the reality, the spell shattering into a hundred pieces and taking with it the traces of Mycroft his imagination had conjured. And every day, Greg was forced to face the truth that Mycroft Holmes, his brilliant, funny, handsome,  _amazing_  partner was… Gone. Each morning the DI was once again left, alone, with nothing but his memories, the bed he used to share with the politician nothing but a cold, empty wasteland of cotton sheets, serving as a sharp, stark reminder of all he’d lost. 

And it  _hurt_. Still. Everyone said that things got easier in time, but Greg knew now that was a load of bollocks. Mycroft had been gone for months, and it wasn’t easier. It just got harder. Waking up each morning, without Myc was just… Hard.

It wasn’t just the physical presence of Mycroft which was now noticeably absent; the house was quieter, less inviting, filling Greg with the unshakeable feeling that he’d become little more than an unwelcome house guest for the sprawling mansion. Which was what he was, really; a guest. The house had always felt more like Mycroft’s anyway, had held enough of the man’s spirit to make it seem like Greg was intruding now that the politician was no longer there. But he still loved the place, had grown to love it in the same way he’d grown to love wholeheartedly the man who’d owned it. And as much as the constant reminder of his lover pained him, it also helped, in a way. The pain meant he was thinking of Mycroft. The pain meant he couldn’t ever, even for a moment, forget the man who’d shaken up his life in the best possible way. The pain meant Mycroft was still  _here_.

With a soft sigh, the DI pushed himself into a sitting position, gazing morosely at the empty side of the bed, his brown eyes, which had once been so full of mischief and  _life,_ dull and listless now. It took more energy than it should to pull himself from under the covers, but he managed, somehow, and shuffling to the wardrobe he stared at the reflection, hardly recognising the man who gazed back. It was uncomfortable, however, meeting his own reflection’s gaze for any extended length of time, and Greg quickly looked away, avoiding accepting that the gaunt, exhausted man in the mirror was really him. 

Staring blankly at the clothes arrayed before him for a few moments, the DI shook his head before blindly reaching for something, pulling it on without much thought; it wasn’t like anyone would notice what he looked like where he was going, anyway. And he’d lost the ability to care about his appearance a while ago. It really didn’t matter anymore. Grabbing a jacket and slipping some shoes on, he pocketed his wallet and keys and was all set. His mobile he left on his bedside table, where it had stayed since he’d come home from the office the day his whole world had fractured; he’d long since stopped answering it anyway. It was too devastating, even half-expecting to hear the familiar drawl of the elder Holmes brother on the other end, and Greg couldn’t cope with that disappointment. Things were hard enough as it was. 

Leaving the house, he got into the car and started to drive, going into autopilot. He knew the way by heart now, the number of times he’d visited, and it wasn’t long before he was pulling into the cemetery car park; aside from the house, it was the only place Greg had which made him feel closer to Mycroft. 

Getting out of the car, the DI moved steadily through the graveyard, his gaze firmly fixed on a headstone slightly apart from the others, ignoring the rest of his surroundings. The grass on this grave seemed greener, at least to Greg’s eyes, and a fresh bouquet of flowers was standing before the stone. Nothing else marked it as unusual, the inscription on the stone plain and simple

_Mycroft Holmes._

_1970 - 2015_

_Forever in our hearts._

Pausing in front of the stone, Greg gazed steadily down at it for a moment in silence, managing a small smile as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Hey, Myc… It’s been a long time since I’ve visited, hasn’t it? Sorry about that. But I promised I’d be here today, didn’t I? Had to be here today. Had to keep that promise… See someone’s left you flowers though. That’s good. I’m glad. It’s…. It’s good…” Trailing off, he sighed softly, running a hand through his hair as his smile faded, pain and sadness filling his eyes now. “God, I hate this…” The DI admitted eventually. “I just… I wish you could answer me back. I’d give anything to have another conversation with you…”

Falling silent as memories of their final conversation swirled to the front of his mind, Greg squeezed his eyes shut; it had all been so… Mundane. An ordinary day, Greg stuck behind his desk, drowning in the paperwork which seemed to spring up despite his best efforts to shift it. Then, out of the blue, a phone call from Mycroft; the man’d been away on business, which usually meant the DI was left for days, sometimes even weeks, without hearing from him, and never during the day. That should really have been his first clue something was wrong… But he hadn’t noticed, had just been happy to hear from the man after a couple of weeks of silence, aside from the occasional brief text, and hadn’t registered anything was off, at least initially. That didn’t last long though…

_“Gregory… I just wanted to say I love you.” Greg’s heart had started thundering painfully in his ears at that point, something in Mycroft’s tone setting his senses on alert. Something wasn’t right…_

_“Mycroft…? What’s wrong?”_

_“Just… Remember that I love you. That I always will, for the rest of my life.”_

_“Stop… Stop saying that like this is goodbye… You’re still coming home, yeah? …Mycroft…? You… You_ are _still coming home…?”_

_“Not this time. I’m sorry…”_

_Then there was a soft thump, as though the phone had been dropped, the background noises of sirens and shouting increasing in volume and filling the line now as Greg sat there frozen, phone held loosely in his hands as he struggled to wrap his head around what he heard. As he waited desperately for Mycroft to say something else,_ anything _else._ This couldn’t be happening… _Then the soft, unbearably kind voice on the other end telling him that Mycroft Holmes had been shot… That he was dead…_

Forcing his eyes open, he shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it of the memories; he spent enough time re-living that moment in his dreams, he didn’t need to be dwelling on it during his waking hours too.  

"I miss you, Myc…” He whispered brokenly as tears slowly started trickling down his cheeks. “I miss you so much… I…” Breaking off, he gave a soft laugh, scrubbing at his cheeks as he glanced away from the headstone and out across the graveyard. “I keep expecting to hear your voice… Every night, I find myself waiting for you to call to tell me that you’re on your way home from work. Or to look up and find you gazing at me in disapproval because I’m drinking too much. Christ, I think I’d even take you calling me to harangue me about not letting Sherlock out of jail at this point.” His chuckles soon gave way to more sobs, and the DI fell silent again, gazing sadly at the headstone. “Why’d you have to leave me, Myc…? I don’t… I don’t understand,” he whispered, moving so he was sat next to the grave, resting his head against the cold stone as his eyes fell closed once more. “I’m so tired, Myc… Tired of being here without you, tired of the dreams… I just… wish you were still here. I wish we’d had longer, wish I’d been able to see you one more time. I wish I’d told you more often that I loved you. But most of all? I wish you were still  _alive_. You’re Mycroft  _bloody_  Holmes. Why couldn’t you have found a way to survive? Why couldn’t you have found a way to stay with me…”  

Sniffing, he roughly scrubbed a hand across his face, drying his tears as he slowly got to his feet again, gazing silently down at the gravestone, hand reaching out to tenderly caress the name carved into the stone. “Happy Birthday, Mycroft,” the DI mumbled, managing the ghost of a smile as he reluctantly removed his hand, tears blurring his vision once more. “Happy birthday…”

**Author's Note:**

> My very first (completed) Mystrade fic, yay!  
> Would you believe I wrote this for my RP partner's birthday? xD He asked for angst, and angst he received. I've modified it a bit since first writing it (if only to make it make more sense for you guys) though. Anyway, hope you enjoyed...? :P


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